Part 1
The cloak of darkness was slowly starting to lift. Tiarina's throat felt starched and dry as sandpaper. What had happened to her? She shivered as she came to full consciousness. Yet it was no comfort as darkness greeted her again. Darkness and a feel of cool silk on her smooth skin. A breeze was blowing from an open window somewhere.
She sat up, blinking several times, trying to clear her hazy vision. What the hell was the matter with her? She didn't remember ever feeling this awful before. Well, that was a lie, but she couldn't remember why. In fact, she couldn't remember a lot else, apart from her name. Which she was sure wasn't her real one.
How very odd.
She sat up, brushing her fringe out her eyes, trying to at least get some sense of where she was, if anything. She heard a clanging sound. ^Keys^ her mind told her. A figure was slowly coming into the room. Tiarina tried to see who.
She got the uncomfortable impression that this person was deliberately trying to confuse her. The person held out a gold plated cup to her. "Drink this."
Tiarina frowned, but took the cup. The liquid inside made her throat burn with an ice coldness. She tried to hand the cup back, but it was shoved in her hands again. The person grabbed her chin and forced the rest of it down her throat. "*All*," he said harshly.
Tiarina gulped it down, shivering violently. "What's going on? Who are you?"
A cold laughter. "Feeling bad? Good. You left when you shouldn't have. You have to be punished for that. Once I'm through you'll wonder how you ever managed to live without me."
The person - the guy - bent over and kissed her softly, his lips dry and scratchy on hers. She tried to push him away, but was weak as a newborn kitten. The guy turned and left the room. A key turned in the door.
Tiarina spent the next few days slipping in and out a befuddled state of consciousness. At least twice every day she was forced to take in the vile potion. On the fourth day, her mind cleared, though it was of little comfort.
She could see clearly where she was - a circular room with a four-poster bed covered in purple and black silken sheets. There was a single large window that looked out on to a large expanse of the well-manicured lawns of a rich person's mansion. She was dressed in an extremely slutty black silk nightgown. There was a wooden wardrobe with a large full length mirror on the inside of the door. There was a single desk with a metal lamp, and a dressing table with makeup and perfume bottles on. A second door opened to a lush bathroom decorated in white and pale blue with a bathtub, toilet, shower and sink.
Tiarina paused in front of one of the mirrors, studying her reflection. Her cheekbones were high, her nose small, her hair was shoulder length, a rich reddish-brown, her eyes a bright clear blue. So she knew what she looked like.
Why couldn't she *remember* anything?
She thought of the man coming into her room. He was only a few inches taller than she was, and not very muscular, his hair was long and browny-blond, tied back in a neat ponytail, he always dressed elegantly. He said he had to punish her, and she wouldn't want to ever leave him.
He was the key to the whole thing, she was sure of it. ^Who are you?^ she thought. Her entire life depended on finding out.
* * *
A/N: The character of Demios Kishari is the property
of Christa Weald ([email protected]) and
used with permission.
Part 2
Draven allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction as he locked the double doors. It was possibly a nicer prison than he would have given to any of his other hostages, but Tiarina was a special case. She didn't have a clue what the hell was happening, which of course, was the whole point.
The mansion and the lands around it, in the English countryside, miles from any town or village, was large enough to keep her well-trapped. If the little bitch had just done what she was supposed to several hundred years ago, then there would be no need for any of this. But no, she'd had to have her own way. *Women,* he thought, shaking his head with disgust.
She had been his back then, when he'd been using the name of Garret, which had become boring, so he'd changed about five hundred years ago. The memory potion appeared to be working, but he was reluctant to trust the witch he had. She'd betrayed him before, and it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she did again.
"If she's that much of a liability, then why don't you just kill her and get a new one?"
Draven scowled at the slouching figure of Demios Kishari leaning against the doorframe to his private study rooms. Demios was dressed sloppily in a dark green Stereophonics t-shirt and black jeans. His mop of long hair, a garish blue-black hung messily around his shoulders. What had convinced him to team up with this measly five hundred year old made vampire was beyond him now.
"Getting a new witch," Draven said, his English tones cold and icy, "is not the same as getting a new pair of shoes. Night People are rare in this country, if you haven't noticed."
Demios shrugged carelessly. "I got you what you wanted." He nodded at the ceiling.
"Yes, and I already paid you. So why are you still hanging around?" Draven sat down at the huge oak desk and took out a cigar.
Demios's nose wrinkled and made a nasty comment about typical rich English, so full of clich�s. Along that line, but not so politely put. Draven chose to ignore him. He liked his money, and his estate, and everything that came with it.
Yet he was convinced this snotty little vampire had something else in mind he wasn't quite willing to share. Draven was pretty sure money wasn't the reason - he had an outrages sum just given him for kidnapping Tiarina. So what did he want?
"Did you actually want something, or are you just hanging around to be a pain in the ass?"
Demios laughed, a disturbingly rich and warm sound, like melted butter. "Yeah, but I don't have her yet." And with that eh turned and walked out the two huge double doors, not bothering to close them behind him. From somewhere near by Draven heard the sound of some vile rock group starting, (he was certain wasn't Stereophonics, because he liked them. And knew what they sounded like). Demios was deliberately being annoying.
Her who? Draven wondered as he shut the doors to his office. Screw it, he thought, he had his own plans to concentrate on.
* * *
Part 3
Tiarina was already sick of the site of the room she was stuck in. And of the well-dressed English guy who came in to force-feed her that vile stuff in the cup. What was it? She sat on the large bed, chin in hands, not exactly sure what she was supposed to be doing with herself.
There was a gnawing inside her that was slowly getting worse. It had been there the first night she had arrived here. Never gone away, though the stuff she had to drink kept her mind from thinking about.
Now it was daylight she stood up and walked to the large arched shaped window, looking out onto manicured lawns, a grey-blue sky hung above. Lifting the glass she could feel a cool breeze hitting her face.
^Well *that's* bloody stupid^ she thought with a snort. If someone was trying to keep her hostage why would they leave the damn window unlocked? He hadn't thought of that. She wished she knew his name...that might help her *remember* something.
She looked down - a mistake. She felt a swill of sickness in her stomach as she realised she must be at least six stories up. She guessed she might have had a height phobia at sometime in her life. She moved away from the window.
She turned to hammer on the door, deciding the next time the guy came up - she was going to kick the shit out of him and demand some answers. She was feeling better now, and wasn't going to sit on her ass and wait for something terrible to happen to her.
Ten minutes later the door opened. But it was a different guy. Smaller. With unusually coloured blue-green eyes, not quite blue, not quite green, eerie in the pale face surrounded by the black hair. "Who're you?"
"What the hell is that fucking racket?" His smirk was almost...kittenishly playful. "The doors are warded, so are the windows. You didn't think you could break them down did you?"
Tiarina eyed him curiously. The guy spoke with an unusual accent, something that sounded foreign, but with a hint of something else, maybe a Western tone to it. "Who're you? And what the hell am I doing here?" "Technically, I'm supposed to give you this and knock you out if you get irritating." The guy smiled unpleasantly again, showing small white teeth.
Tiarina's eyes rolled.* Her* being difficult didn't sound like it was going to be the issue. A thought struck her, the guy was smaller than she was. She could push him aside and make a run for it...even though she had no idea where she would be going. Would that be totally stupid?
"Yes," the guy said with a sneer. "You'll just get yourself recaptured, and Draven will have a field day torturing you. You really want that to happen?"
Draven..."He's the snotty guy?"
The other guy laughed. "That's...one way of putting him. Stuck-up, pain in the ass obnoxious bastard was what I had in mind."
The name meant nothing to Tiarina at the moment. Though it sparked something inside her...a feeling of dread that she had once made a terrible mistake of some kind. "Are you going to ay least tell me your name? Right now I'm thinking you're description of Draven is closer suited to you."
The guy laughed his irritating, melt-your-insides laugh. "I've been called worse. Demios. You won't know who I am. Even if you do get your memory back."
So there *had* been something done to her memory. She looked around the tower room again. It reminded her of the fairy-tales about princesses trapped in towers. It didn't look at the moment like she was going to get a handsome prince to come and rescue her. "What's this Draven person got against me?"
Demios shrugged and yawned. Tiarina found herself shuddering at the site of his teeth. "Boring story. You were supposed to marry him, didn't, you ran off, screwed someone else, and disappeared. He wants revenge. As a plus for him, you happen to tie in with something *I* want. Though he doesn't know I have my own plan. If you got any brains, don't make a racket like you were, or you'll be dead. Which wasn't part of any plan." With that, Demios left the room, locking the door behind him.
Tiarina cursed herself for missing her chance to escape. She didn't know what was up with Demios. He had deliberately given her a bunch of information she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to know. His own plan...he was up to something. Draven...whoever he was...was up to something. Demios's little history re-cap stirred nothing in her.
She had information...which was useless considering she didn't know what to do with it. She walked back over to the open window, as if something inside her was telling her she could use it to escape. But *how*? From what she could see there was nothing to climb down. Warded...that spoke of magic, which meant she wouldn't be able to get out anyway. And who in their right mind would throw themselves from a six story window and hoped they landed on something soft without splattering their brains all over the concrete?
What was missing?
* * *
Part 4
Draven remained in the shadows as he listened to the conversation between Demios and Tiarina. Who the hell was Demios calling obnoxious? he thought, irritated. But if he didn't want to be detected, then it wasn't worth saying anything about it now.
It didn't surprise him that Tiarina would try to escape, even in the highest room of the manor house. Providing she didn't work out her shapeshifting power, then that was okay with him. Or the telepathic thing so she could call for help.
He allowed himself a small smile. Well, she didn't remember her idiot of a sire, or any friends of hers who might be able to come and save her. No one should work out where she was. As far as any of his enemies were concerned, he was dead and buried. He even visited his own grave sometimes.
His smile faded as Demios got into the history thing or why he was holding her. If the little bitch hadn't run off all those years ago, then they wouldn't be doing this, she would be his and never have become part of that idiot clan of hers.
When Demios came back down the stairs he blended in with the shadows of the tower steps, not wanting to be seen. Demios paused, blue-green eyes narrowed as he looked around. Then shrugged and walked on.
Draven walked over to the door, pressing his hands against it. If she was still in a mood, it would be hard to make her understand. Her memory was still fuzzy, and despite what he'd said, he had asked one of his secretaries to find him a more powerful witch.
Which meant, first of all, the old one had to be taken care of. That'd keep him busy for all of...ten minutes. He left the tower room and walked through the open room so the mansion where his witch was probably brewing her potions in the basement.
Most of them stank so much he didn't want her stinking the house out so he made her do her work in the basement, that meant it was only herself and the prisoners who had to put up with her.
"Today's potion isn't ready yet," she grumbled, looking up from her cauldron. Her pale violet eyes glimmered angrily. Her silver hair was tied back in a messy bun. She was only twenty-five. The only Harman he'd managed to find that hadn't been nabbed by Circle Daybreak in their gather-all-the-lost-witches crap.
"When will it be ready?" His arms crossed across his chest. She would have something sharp around here...ah. Poker by the fire place, that would do. When she turned her back he would make a grab for it.
"About twenty minutes, it needs to cool down," she answered, taking a ladle dipping it into the pot, using the ladle to pour the steaming gold coloured liquid into a clear glass jar.
"And this one will reset everything."
"Begin the process. I'll need to do a little hypnosis and invent some memories to replace the one's she lost if you want her to stick here with you."
Invent memories? Not a spell he'd ever heard of, nor seen done before. Well, his new witch would probably do a better job of it than he would. He didn't really believe any sort of hypnosis would work, and would even admit to be impressed if it turned out he could be proved wrong here.
The witch still hadn't turned her back yet. Draven sighed with irritation...then frowned. Something...something wasn't right. He could sense a presence in the room that didn't belong there, and his witch was starting to sense it too.
"Evil is in this room," she whispered hoarsely. She cupped her palms together, and Draven could see the orange witch magic starting to grow between them. The witch's violet eyes were darting around the darker corners, where the light of the candles she used to light the room didn't quite manage to reach.
The witch shrieked, and Draven cried out in anger and surprise as a knife appeared, slicing the witch's throat, the arm coming from behind. Her ball of magic flew off, striking him in the chest, throwing him ten feet across the room. The witch was on the floor, blood gashing from the wound in her neck. She was making choking sounds, and within two minutes or less, lay still.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was tall, with long blonde hair and blue eyes and a coldness about her that didn't seem to fit in with her fairy-like beauty. She looked more like she should be a nymph in a classical painting. Draven scrambled to his feet. "Who the hell are you?"
The girl laughed, chilling but beautiful at the same time. Like everything else about her. "You sent for me." Her accent was British, and kind of posh as well.
He eyed her dubiously starting to move out the room. "You're the witch my agent got?"
"I'm a little more than just a witch," the girl said proudly as she followed him out the basement and upstairs. "The man who called me said someone named Draven Blacknight was looking for a powerful magic worker, they called me." He noticed her sneer a little at his name.
He would have liked to stick with Redfern, but Garret Redfern was dead. Draven Blacknight was the pseudonym he'd chosen. It sounded better, more flashy for a two thousand year old vampire. "You got a name?"
"Susanna Tempest."
Draven turned to stare at the woman. ^Great, just what I wanted. Another fucking Tempest^ he thought.
* * *